


The Flame

by Seydoublie



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Smut, prostitution(not really)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:40:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26734495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seydoublie/pseuds/Seydoublie
Summary: 'In which Gellert Grindelwald was offered a catamite who looked immensely like his old flame and turned out to be Albus Dumbledore himself indeed.'
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	The Flame

**Author's Note:**

> *One-shot smut with extremely explicit adult content and dubious consent. Please consider yourself warned and proceed with caution.
> 
> *Please note this work is not compliant with 9&1/2 Weeks, though it sounds like an appendix for chapter 10.
> 
> *The author is pretty limited in English, so don't squint too carefully...& corrections are always welcome!!

The Flame

Gellert Grindelwald never regretted his choice of staying in the dingy, half-demolished estate sitting in the western part of a withering Croatian town called Starpoznanik. There was a dusty vase standing in the entry of the reception hall, with a long stretching bunch of roses protruding forward into the stagnant air, where high-pitched inappropriate noises were easily covered by the heavy breathing of uncivilized beings and some more sounding masturbation that's going on in the very next chamber, before those wankers(ohh, not even a metaphor!) were officially welcomed by their belated lord of death incarnated into verdigris avada flashes. Apparently disgusted by the lingering lascivious thoughts of brutes and pimps, Queenie Goldstein smiled weakly at her master who, nodded with his usual grace, and roved around the now restful place till stamping accidentally, thus mercilessly onto the plump body of the bawd. The bawd, though appeared amusing with smashed cosmetics caking her worldly face, was gifted with the instinct to grovel and please as she offered generously all her girls and some lads(added after noticing the chilly placid complexion our mighty dark wizard wore) for his 'pleasure'(in her deluding ribald tone). The act eventually won her an end of less decency and more twisting torment along with those fore-mentioned poor girls(and a few bumboys, of course)who were stacked awkwardly up in the filthy cabinet with legs apart and perinea unclothed. Anthea Miller took over the cleansing part when sweet Miss Goldstein couldn't help but vomit at the reek smell of fresh urine and spattered blood. Composing herself perfectly, she dimpled sideways to meet the dark lord in the eye, and announced her total capability of managing some so-called re-decoration without wasting the precious time that should her dear master enjoy in privacy. She claimed indicatively also that even an appalling brothel like this would not necessarily be denied of value if satisfying the right regent of reign(sorry, just obsessed with alliterative wordings), which hoisted our monarch's rare curiosity successfully (and now they rhyme).

Treading carefully upon the ebony staircase embroidered with metallic, Byzantine railings, a fake-leather canapé was revealed in the dim light of aster-shaped candles. On the canapé lay a naked frail frame, sleeping soundly with his slender back and curvy little bottom left toward the ingressive dark lord, lewd and ludicrous(why so many 'L's?), utterly unaware of the dilemma he was snared into. It was only until Gellert Grindelwald put one hand upon the boy's pale flank did the auburn-head respond with a burst of broken whimpers and squirmed under the burning touch, which caused, well, an unexpected physio-psychic reaction from our soon-to-be potentate. He stilled for almost a second, then flipped the smaller body around with such tenderness that mankind(both wizards and non-magic included) had yet to see, and inspected gravely at the boy's fair countenance. The auburn-head boy, with his eyes screwed completely shut, had a pinky nose that twitched slightly every time Grindelwald tapped his hyper-sensitive skin, and parting lush, reddish lips looking ridiculously innocent from afar but seducing when one dared coming close, as if waiting simply to be conquered. The very thought brought sheer pressure down to Grindelwald's lower stomach as he kneaded in, tracing fine lines along the plastered body now trapped beneath him and nipped those nipples, hence forced a wounded sound out of his young victim. Not really fond of the sudden stimulation sent off around his body, the boy blinked his eyes open reluctantly, and oh those sapphire eyes, those ocean-like blue eyes, bore such familiarity with Grindelwald's lost lover that they were almost painful to look at. To one's bizarre wonder, the boy did not ask his offender to stop, no. Instead, he wrapped his arms around the other man's waist, and pushed himself against the salient bulge of the well-tailored trousers made from alpaca wool and groaned sheepishly, as if he was not the one who initiated such a bold, lecherous(again? Seriously?) move. 

While a tumult of passion whirled around his torso, the boy seemed dizzy with confusion. He stared hollowly at the man whose silhouette was camouflaged by the shivering candlelight, and let Grindelwald's calloused hands run along his freckled wan skin. Or it was him that shook with total abandon, smiling helplessly when getting stroked on the pubic bone. He did not bother to guess, or to find out the answer at all, not when the euphoria rushing through his spine aroused him to an aching extent. Then a thin finger found its way through the narrow path hidden between the dunes, and it took only the second finger joining in, scissoring him open for his orgasm to surge forward like billows. Hot liquid spilt over his abdomen, painting an abstract pattern of one's desire, intenser even than Modigliani's finest works. The ejaculation came so fast and unexpected that the boy himself was as much surprised as the wicked wizard hovering above him with trousers stained by the outcome(what a pun!). 'So naughty.' He commented in a smug yet sarcastic way, playing with the squishy fluids with slight amusement,' Please do not be embarrassed, my boy. You are the most exquisite thing in this place. Look around. See the crystal goblet on that rotting wooden table, shining with moonlight? Could have been a perfect combination of beauty and vulnerability. But no, not when being compared with you.' He cupped the young Adonis' burning face as he spoke, and kissed and gnawed those puffy, slack lips tantalizingly. The boy moaned into his mouth. How very Dumbledore. 

Suddenly, Gellert Grindelwald was whirled back to their distant teenage years in the blooming summer of 1899, mixed with the endearing odor of salty lemon and squawk of starlings. On the fertile land he used to loiter abreast with Albus Dumbledore, too many mysteries were left to be unriddled until they were not their puzzle to tackle anymore. A bigger picture was set in front of two ambitious prodigies, anchoring two drifting minds to the same dart, guiding them down the same glorious path. Yet Albus Dumbledore, asinine, reckless Albus Dumbledore had betrayed their mutual creed for mere pursuit of philistine sibling relations. The brave Gryffindor had shown his cowardice when his more-than-friend was in direst need of help. Mockery should do the trick of literature under common condition, but Grindelwald preferred to spare the pain from revealing an old scar. He was too far gone from that haughty adolescent to be moping over unrequited summer romance. Strange it was, to consider his feelings were not returned. After all, Dumbledore did serve his libido well with that tight mouth which once muttered out ranges of brilliant ideas and the quality anus that was repeatedly filled with his semen and dripped all over the linen beddings when emptied. Just like the auburn-head boy spread coquettishly before him, the flimsy simulacrum of his past lover had faded into nothing more than an excuse for Grindelwald's debauchery. Soothing the boy's quivering thighs, he nudged his shaft around the elastic entrance, and explored the narrow tunnel with the same weapon he used to bury deeply into his intelligent lover, pumping hot juice out of that delicious body. Adrenaline burgeoned at once as the brutal man penetrated into the lithe boy unrelentingly, and the thick rod only grew harder when the poor catamite sobbed pathetically into Grindelwald's nape, begging for a little gentleness. With red-rimmed azure eyes fogged by circling tears, he would make a perfect scene in some perverted pigs' porn collection. A gorgeous slut like this deserved only pints and pints of sperm in the throat until on which he was choked to death.

As though legilimenting his mind, the boy went rigid simultaneously. Though hyperventilating from his former climax, he gritted out our villain's surname like a curse. 'Grindelwald,' Funny how he sounded like he had known him for more than his genitals. It always startled Grindelwald when there's hurt in his conquests' husky voice, because from his abundant association with prostitutionism, he had established the personal belief that whores did not expect joy from their intercourses. They simply expect more money. However, this one was different— he had to, hadn't he, to be calculative enough to reflect particular idiosyncrasy that had been seen on Albus Dumbledore and Albus Dumbledore alone. Such a clever boy. 'Don't. Please don't do this.' The auburn-head pleaded, his voice breaking into a sharp, desperate cry as the dark lord thrust into him fiercely till fully embraced by his warm rectum. 'It's too cruel, even for you.' Cruelty was nothing to be measured, Grindelwald wanted to tell the young thing, the only question mattered was the definition of cruelty itself, and right then, he was more than happy to demonstrate the beastly word's true meaning. He cannot bring himself to do it nonetheless, for some opaque reason one dared not to pry. Instead of pounding into the fragile contour in seek of venereal release, the sovereign gathered the shaking body into his arms, and kissed him into tranquility. The latter shuddered when the kiss broke, his penis rubbing helplessly against the dark lord's underbelly. He was leaking already. Sticky precome snaked down his erection, wetting layers of rumpled canapé cushions. Yet the conqueror didn't seem to mind; he was snapped back again into the unyielding memory haunted by the callipygian body of an eighteen-year-old Dumbledore. This very image of Albus Dumbledore would doubtless count as the past that most saints had never had. The way he was splayed upon the hay, arching like a cat to pop his round butt higher so his lover could reach deeper into him, teasingly brushing against his prostate was unimaginable to even sinners, except for one. The Albus Dumbledore known to Grindelwald was prone to blush and writhe when getting fucked thoroughly against his own will. In the shaggy barn where they used to share their passion, he had laughed and wept, screamed in pleasure and begged in pain. He had even mumbled his love for his monarch lover in obnubilation, when they tangled together like vines after their messy copulation. Was it sincere then? Or was it tainted by the emptiness of being ripped open, mawkishly exposed to the chilly air sweeping around the valley? Did it even matter, after all these years, all the blood on his lover's hands? It was just another fling, doomed to extinguish in the first storm of fall. Maybe Gellert Grindelwald missed how terribly content it felt to have that boneless body curled in his embrace. Maybe he missed just how ecstatic it was to have his cock clenched by the tense ring of muscle.

The last thought got him off soon enough. Panting, he loaded into the wrecked body beneath him, fingers digging into the tender flesh of the catamite. Oddly enough, the boy inhaled sharply, and came as well. This was definitely unusual for a common whore, but our dark lord was too pleased to hover on the peculiar oddity. The boy seemed equally satisfied, nuzzling up to his chest like a child, his curly auburn hair fluttering with inconsistent breaths. Suppose Grindelwald was not drunk on vermouth, he might notice the drop of tear sliding down the auburn-head’s face, and furthermore recognize the body covering his was not only similar to Albus Dumbledore by coincidence, but was Dumbledore himself, provided with the magical effect of de-aging potion. However, he was what he was, and the truth remained unknown for the night, thereupon each night of the century. Yet Albus Dumbledore was indeed aware of it, as he slept soundly in his lover’s arms for one last time. Deep in his dreams, they had leaped upon the hills, wandered along the dales, laughed frivolously just the way they did back in 1899. Outside the grizzling windows, farmers had risen for another mundane day of labour, with their hands on the ploughs, waiting for a colder sunrise.


End file.
